Kids talk about death, too.
My current "day job" is as a crossing guard for the elementary school my stepson attends. Luckily that school is across the street from our house and my crosswalk is right on the corner. It doesn't pay very much, but it's enough to cover my clergy classes and any books I need to study while still putting away a tiny bit of money every month. I work with three safeties -- 5th graders that block the crosswalks for me and allow the flow of pedestrians when I tell them it's safe.
Last week one of my safeties was upset. His grandmother's second husband had died unexpectedly and he was told he couldn't attend the funeral. After comforting him about his loss, I asked him if they explained to him why he wasn't allowed to attend the funeral and why that upset him. According to him the year before last one of his great-uncles had died, he had cried so hard he made himself sick and had to be removed from the funeral. Anticipating this might happen again, he was told he couldn't attend this time.
His upset stemmed from knowing that a funeral is for the living, and he felt he wasn't being allowed to say goodbye. He had liked his grandmother's husband, was saddened by his death, and wanted to be a part of his service. Funerals are for crying, he reasoned, and he didn't see why him having so many tears was such a problem. He felt excluded. Ultimately, he decided that he would explain to his parents that he's two years older now and better able to control himself. He would argue that he should be a part of this or he'll never learn how to face these situations the right way.
His friend sat with him, listening to everything he said and nodding in his wise ten-year-old way. There was a moment of silence before he shared his own concerns. "I worry about my dad. I mean, he's only forty-two, but he really works a lot and then he does all the house repairs for the whole family. We keep telling him he doesn't have to, but... And I think he has high blood pressure. Sometimes I worry he's going to have a heart attack or something. I don't want that to be my first funeral." This time he's the one that was comforted while the two boys sat and thought about mortality.
I stood nearby, listening in wonder over these boy's having this open, emotional conversation. Most adults couldn't talk this way; there would be a struggle to come up with the right thing to say, to comfort the other person so we wouldn't have to be uncomfortable with them. At ten years old they already have a grasp on the concept of mortality, while adults tend to believe it happens with maturity. I wanted so much to pull their fathers aside and tell them how proud I am of these boys. Tell the one that he should allow his son to participate in the funeral because he gets it, and tell the other that he needs to listen to his son's warnings to slow down.
I didn't encroach on their conversation, though it clearly wasn't entirely private, because I was wondering about my stepson. He has only experienced the death of a few animal companions, but one day he'll have to attend the funeral of a human loved one. Have I given him a good enough foundation of understanding with my death positive education? Does he worry about his father to stress and work? Am I leading him in the best example of how to live life to the fullest, with compassion and kindness for others, to die without regrets? And does he really understand what my calling is?
